


Abandon

by winterwaters



Series: Never Forget [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AxG Week, Comfort, F/M, Future Fic, Prompt Fill, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“To leave, but also to yield oneself – without moderation or restraint.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abandon

**Author's Note:**

> not entirely sure if this fits the prompt ... it kinda got away from me. but hope you like it anyways :3

Arya had never thought of herself as one to give up control. After everything that had happened to her and her family because of the actions of others, she had decided nobody would be in charge of her life except her. 

Yet here she was, sharing a cabin with Gendry on a ship back to Westeros. It had taken little time for her to leave everything she had come to know so well, and now she was returning to a land she had tried her hardest to forget.

All because of him.

He had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sturdy and purposeful by the docks. Arya had been scanning the crowd from a nearby rooftop when her eyes landed on his thick shock of black hair and broad build. Even from her position she’d seen his wide blue eyes searching the throngs of people (for her, though she had denied it for days). Despite her best intentions, she’d found a way to return to the docks in the following weeks. Upon hearing the steady ringing of hammer on steel at the forge, a peek through the window had told her all she needed to know. 

His stupid, bull-headed self brought back memories she had thought were long gone, and uncertain feelings she hadn’t known she was capable of. It was odd and far more troubling than her training had ever been.

A small part of her began to wonder if he would recognize her just as easily as she had him. So one night, she slipped in the window of the forge long after it had closed. Knowing Gendry, he’d be in the back. Silent as a shadow, she crept along the wall until she found the small room. But as she peeked through the open doorway, she found the cot empty.

Then a large hand clamped down on her shoulder, spinning her around and pressing her against the rock wall. Instinctively, Arya jammed her knee between his legs, hearing his grunt of pain. His grip on her slackened as he bent over, and that was all she needed to throw her body weight against him. They fell on the floor in a heap, their limbs tangled until he overtook her with sheer force, pinning her to the ground.

She stopped resisting, meeting his blue eyes steadily and watching in satisfaction as they darkened with recognition.

“Arya?” 

The low whisper echoed through the forge, and she felt as though her name rang back a hundred times more.

Gendry leaned back to sit with a hard thump on the dirt floor, pulling her to sit beside him. His calloused fingers traced along her cheek with a gentleness that belied his large form. She let herself study him, noting the sharp angle of his jaw, the lean muscles in his shoulders and torso; yet another reminder that they were children no more. She wondered if he was noticing similar changes in her.

Without warning, his hands shot out to pull her into his lap, and he held her close with a choked laugh. “I knew you were alive. I knew it.”

Arya didn’t react at first; she couldn’t, she was so surprised at his actions. But Gendry continued to hold her until, hesitantly, her arms came up to encircle his shoulders. She pressed her face into his shoulder, inhaling the smell of smoke and leather and _him_ , and then she wasn’t sure who was holding who anymore.

Since then, he had refused to leave her side for longer than a quarter of an hour, convinced he’d never find her again. Though Arya tried to assure him otherwise, part of her wanted to keep him close as well.

Now Arya lay on one side of the bed in their small cabin, still caught up in her thoughts as the door opened and Gendry entered. Seeing her awake, he shot her a brief smile before crossing the room to shrug off his heavy jerkin and boots. Though Arya had told him to sleep comfortably, he always kept his tunic and trousers on around her out of sheer modesty. (For him or her, she wasn’t sure. Probably both, knowing him).

The small mattress creaked and dipped as Gendry lay on the other end, parallel to Arya. 

“Everything alright?” She asked.

He nodded. “Captain says that should be the worst of it for now. The waters should be calm the rest of the way.”

They lay in silence for some time, each unsure of what to do next. Then Gendry cleared his throat, turning his head to look at her briefly.

“Well, g’night, then.”

Arya managed a weak smile. “Night.”

He shifted and turned so his back was to her, but Arya lay awake long enough to know his breathing didn’t even out for a long time after. Lulled by the ship’s rocking, she eventually fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with faces from her past that she wasn’t ready to encounter just yet.

She awoke with a cry as a hand closed over her mouth.

“Stop it, sshh, Arya, it’s me,” came his furious whisper against her ear. “It’s Gendry,” he assured, and her limbs slackened immediately. She turned to find him wide awake, his blue eyes bright with concern as he looked down at her. It was his calloused palm that covered her mouth, and now she registered his other arm wrapped around her waist, his hand rubbing circles along her back.

“You were upset,” he explained haltingly. “Kept calling out names …,” Gendry trailed off, his hand leaving her mouth to trace her cheek. Arya realized with a start that his fingers touched wetness. Had she been crying? She didn’t know.

Seeing the confusion on her face, Gendry merely pulled her closer, laying her cheek against his chest. His fingers combed through her hair, and against all her training, Arya buried her face against his soft tunic, breathing in the smoky scent that he always carried. When his arms closed around her, she was surrounded by him, and only him.

Somehow, he made her give up her tight rein of herself and her emotions, if only for a few moments. But here with him, it did not make her feel weak.

With him, she was strong.


End file.
